S2 in a Broken Bottle

[Lying on the ground is a empty bottle. As you bend over to pick it up, you discover the lower half is shattered. Every bit of glass that used to be connected is scattered on the ground, reflecting the dying sunlight. Every ray of light entrances you, but as time passes, you realize how lost you were in the light as it fades into the blackness of nothing. 1

As sunlight dissapears over the tree-tops, you discover a crumpled piece of paper near the bottle. It is muddy, and gives the appearance of many people trampling over it, unknowingly and with lack of care. It is yellowed from the light, and looks almost disgusting to your taste.2

You put two and two together, and decide that the paper has come from the bottle itself. You pick it up and unfold it, trying to be careful as not to rip it (it certainly looks like it will tear at any second), but not TOO careful, it's only a piece of paper, after all.3

The font and lettering is fading and runny, making it very hard to read. It's obviously been out in the wild for a long time, abandoned and forgotten. You wonder how something like this could have gotten here. 4

As you begin to scan the page, however, you notice that something about the paper pulls you. Maybe it's the depressing tone of it. Maybe it reminds you of someone close. Maybe you can indentify with some of the ideas of the writer. Or maybe, just maybe, you're seeing yourself years down the road.5

Whatever the pull is, you begin to read.]6

Dear Reader,7

I am sorry that you have laid eyes upon my final statements. I am sorry, because who wants to read a letter like this? If there was a way, I would find it so you would not have to lay eyes upon this. But how can I help you now? How could I help you then?8

These are questions I asked myself time and time again. What is my penance, and how shall I act it out? I lost myself to personal enjoyment, and now discover that the only way to counteract this sin is to come to the aid of those who need it.9

The problem is that for even half of a problem I contribute to solving, I create two monumental ones at the very least. What good comes from this? I think back now and discover that I cannot think of one good thing I have done for human nature. I can't think of one thing good or positive I have done for anything.10

Maybe this is just depression talking. In response to that, I've been feeling this way for years, if not my entire life. Is that depression? Does that not make it fact? No, just because time holds onto an opinion, does not make it fact. Just as time creates racial inequality, sexual discrimination, violence against youth; this does not make it fact. Yes, it therefore exists, but it does not make it a fact in the sense that it is right.11

But where else can I express my feelings? How else can I even be sad? Everyone looks at me and expects enjoyment of everything, complete and utter stupidity and the ability to make a fool of myself with no repercussions. I don't mind doing it, in fact, it's fun. But to even get one second of sadness in my eyes is something I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of what to say to those who want to know what's going on. So why tell them? "Tired." "Inebriated." "Thinking." I'm not lying to them. Not when I say those things. But there is more, so much more going on inside my head at the time.12

So many feelings have come and gone. Thoughts. Friends. I can't look at anyone really anymore. I can always find a way that I hurt them in the past. Just imagine the feeling I got yesterday sitting in J's house and talking to his mother, and coming to the brutal realization that she blames me for every reason of his downfall to where he is now. She's right, I guess. I did give him the push. In fact, I nearly said, "Follow me." 13

Think of T. Think of how he had his life straightened out, and through my own ways I managed to pull him right back to where we all are now. Again, another.14

M. Think of M. Think of how he was there with us in the beginning and lost the wonderful chance of a good job. Something he's needed for years. He already suffers enough. Yet, he went through it with us.15

And what of C? What of the starters I've taken him on? Opening a door is a lot easier than closing one.16

P? I turned her nearly into a female version of myself through actions I regret everyday taking.17

Everything I ever did to R. That in itself would be enough reason to write this letter.18

And everyone else I even met along the way.19

Self-pity. It looks, apparently, as if I have that. I hope no one else suffers it, and I hope no one feels pity for me. But I feel like even this will be looked at and found disgusting. 20

"Straighten your life up." "Always another chance." "Something good will happen." How often have you found yourself in my place and told that to yourself? And, let I remind you, just because time holds it does not make it fact.21

The days are getting colder and colder, as does everything within me. Somedays I feel like a walking zombie, hidden behind the body and trapped in an infinite amount of ways. Other times, I just shut my mind off so I don't have to think and hurt. I don't actually even think now, because of what will happen if I do.22

I don't know how I even feel now. About anything. These things are too hard to think about anymore. All I know, is I am tired of creating problems. I've tried to help everyone, and I can't. I can't even help myself.23

So run away, and forget this letter. Forget anything you'll ever hear about me. I wish I could have done that.24

I wish I could have forgotten.